


the best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn't one

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Molly, Behind the Scenes, Clever Molly, Developing Mycroft Holmes/Molly Hooper, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Molly Is Patient, Molly is a Good Friend, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft is Sweet, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Mycroft is a Softie, POV Molly, POV Molly Hooper, Protective Mycroft, Sad Molly, Secret Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is more to the acquaintanceship between Mycroft Holmes and Molly Hooper than meets the eyes. So very much more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn't one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecount/gifts).



> My recipient for the Summer 2016 round of Holmestice, **thecount** , had so many great ideas, and I started writing a very long Mystrade fic but even with extensions there would be no way I would have finished it in time so I wrote this instead. Part of the request for Molly-centric fic had been " _I like Molly being the fantastically clever and ruthless woman she must be to do her job and rustle up lookalike corpses to throw around as required. I like the idea of Molly and Mycroft conspiring behind the scenes_ ," and as one of the end requests had been if there had been any ideas rattling around that their writer would love to try that they'd had their eye on I went with the idea I'd had for a while that Mycroft and Molly were dating nearly the entire time that Sherlock was gone between series 2 and 3, and that Molly had a hand in keeping Sherlock safe and that Tom and Molly weren't _really_ dating. This fic is set up where it shows various moments between Mycroft and Molly, interspersed with "quotes" from Sherlock about various aspects of case solving that have some pertinence to the scene between the two lovers.
> 
> The title of the fic comes from a quote from The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood, and one of the quote from Sherlock (the one about "After a time, most people find that having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting") borrows quite a bit from [this post](http://star-trekkeep.tumblr.com/post/144749843125/vulcansuggestion-after-a-time-you-may-find) on Tumblr that had caught my eye that I had saved as a fic inspiration.

_“It’s never an evil twin. Never. That’s one of the most cliché explanations in the book. Writers use it when they get lazy. It’s never true in real life...for the most part.”_

She didn’t believe the tripe she was hearing about Sherlock, about how he was a criminal mastermind, not with someone who could be nearly his own bloody twin in her morgue. The key fact was that he was _nearly_ his twin. Not entirely. Not completely. Not enough to fool her, or someone like Sally or Greg, or even a normal bloke on the street who gave more than a cursory glance.

But certainly enough to fool a little girl frightened out of her wits.

She paced in her office. She knew she had to perform a post-mortem, deliver the John Doe to the nearest potter’s field, but there had to be a better use for it. If Moriarty could use the body to pull off a caper like this, then _surely_ Sherlock could find a use for it as well, couldn’t he? Oh, it went against her principles to think of someone who had once been a living, breathing human as a prop, but at the moment there were lives at stake, lives of people she cared for. Because whatever game Moriarty had ensnared Sherlock in could have snaked out farther: to John, to Greg...perhaps even to her. She didn’t know.

She went to her desk and picked up her mobile, pulling up her contacts. It had been a long time since she had dialed his number, a long time since she’d had need. The last time had been after Sherlock had informed her that Jim from IT was actually Moriarty, and he’d sent her a text to say that her protection detail had been increased, and she had called back to ask what protection detail he was talking about. But if anyone would know of a plan to pull Sherlock’s hide out of the frying pan, out of the fire and perhaps off the stove-top altogether, it would be his brother.

She pressed SEND on the contact and then waited. It rang once and there was an answer. “Miss Hooper,” Mycroft said, his voice smooth.

“I have a body in my morgue that might be of use to you,” she replied. “The man Moriarty used to fool the girl into thinking it was Sherlock who abducted her.”

There was a lengthy pause, lengthy enough that she thought he might not have heard her. She was about to ask if he was still there when he spoke. “Perhaps we can chat, Miss Hooper,” he said. “I’ll be at your office in twenty minutes.”

“Fine,” she said. “One thing, though.”

“Yes?” he asked.

“It’s _Dr._ Hooper, Mr. Holmes,” she said, hanging up on him and setting her phone down. There. She’d had the last word _and_ hung up on him. Now she just had to wait to see if she could get through their next conversation with nerves of steel.

_“It’s hard enough to commit a crime with a partner. Having a third person involved means that there are more people to leak the secret. The only way to ensure a successful crime between a trio is if there are only two alive.”_

It was remarkably easy to fake a death. Mycroft and Sherlock had put an elaborate plan into motion before she had ever gotten involved and when she had come in with her dead body and her expertise it had all fallen into place, as easy as one-two-three. Sherlock had said she could be trusted and Mycroft had agreed with little fuss.

She had wondered why until after Sherlock’s “burial,” and the now “dead” Sherlock’s absconding in the night to parts unknown to take down the syndicate. She had put on the face of a friend in mourning. Well, perhaps not a friend. An almost-friend mourning a what-could-have-been was more like it. That was how most people saw things, and she supposed if it was best if that was the appearance she kept up. She wasn’t sure if that was what she truly was these days; her feelings on the matter were so complicated and muddied that she wasn’t sure what she felt towards Sherlock anymore beyond fondness.

She had come home after a long day to find a single light on in her home. Though self-defense weapons were banned in England, that hadn’t stopped Lestrade from giving her pepper spray just in case, when the bomb scares were going on, and she fingered the canister in her handbag. “It’s only me,” she heard Mycroft say, and she eased her finger away from the trigger.

“You scared me,” she said.

“Our mutual acquaintance has arrived in Dublin, safe and sound,” he said. “He wanted me to let you know. I do not know how often I will have contact with him, but when I can, I will inform you of his condition and his whereabouts.”

Molly nodded, setting her handbag on the table. “Would you like tea?”

Mycroft looked at her, surprised. “I...would,” he said slowly, nodding. “Thank you.”

“You can come over for a cuppa like a normal person, you know,” she said as she made her way to the kitchen. “It will look less suspicious.”

He tilted his head. “Do you really want my company?”

“It won’t hurt to have someone to share the truth with,” she said, beginning to gather the things for tea. “I won’t go mad that way. I don’t think it would be bad for you, either.”

“I suppose it would be good to have someone to talk to,” he said, smiling faintly. “Someone to share things with.”

“Then it’s settled,” she said with a nod. “And if you come by late enough, I’ll toss in supper as well.” His grin elicited one from her. This could be very good for both of them, she thought. Very good indeed...

_“Complacency is what causes people to become sloppy. When someone becomes complacent in a subterfuge they’re perpetrating, whether it’s to cover up a crime or a falsehood, that’s when they make mistakes.”_

It seemed as though they settled into a routine fairly quickly, with Mycroft coming by at first once a week, then twice, each evening precisely at six. He would always stay for two hours, and they would share tea and a meal of takeaway from either Konaki or Masala Zone. It became so routine that she could set her calender by it, or her watch.

She was surprised that she actually enjoyed his company. It was different than Sherlock’s company, but Mycroft was more sociable in some ways, more polite and more open. It was nice to have conversations with him about a wide variety of topics. She wasn’t sure if they were friends, but they were friend _ly_ , and it was something.

Today was five months after Sherlock had faked his death, and they were enjoying a meal of melitzana and spanakopitakia and meze to split between them while he was regaling her with a tale about a particularly obtuse member of Parliament he had dealt with that afternoon. She found herself laughing at the absurdity of the situation when he stopped the story. “I look forward to this, our evenings together,” he said.

“You do?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “I do. They are often the highlight of my week. Though it does put you in danger, I’m afraid. My coming here is now a part of my routine, and you have become one of my weaknesses. Though, I suppose you aren’t a weakness I regret.”

She ducked her head down. “I’m surprised. I mean, I didn’t think you actually felt _that_ way towards me.”

He set his food down and he reached forward, taking her her hand and gently grasping it in his. She was surprised at the gesture, at the gentleness of it. She looked up and saw he was looking at her intently. “I am not prone towards sentiment, which may be something you find to be a detriment if we pursue a romantic relationship, but I would be willing to put forward an effort with you, if you would be willing to give me the chance.”

She gave him a fond smile. “I think I would,” she said. “But let’s go slowly, all right?”

He nodded. “All right.” He squeezed her hand once. “I think, for your safety, you might need to be assigned a bodyguard, to pose as your significant other. I have a man who would work nicely, Tom Harrington. He’s bland and a decent copy for Sherlock. Most will think he’s your type. In public he’ll appear to be your significant other, but in private...”

She felt her smile widen. “In private, my attentions will be all yours,” she said.

He nodded again, giving her a rare fond smile. “Precisely,” he said, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

_“Emotions are a weakness, and the worst of them is lust. Common wisdom says love makes you do crazy things but lust is worse. Lust short-circuits the brain and makes you forget all reason.”_

She had firmly sent Tom home two hours earlier and had taken the opportunity to get ready for Mycroft. She felt a bit awkward having to snog Tom to make the fake relationship appear real when really, she would much rather snog Mycroft senseless. And at the moment, her relationship with Mycroft was at a bit of a standstill. There had been some rather passionate kisses, but she wanted more.

And tonight, she was going to try and _get_ more.

Mycroft had his own key, and she knew that she needn’t bother waiting for a knock, so she could set the mood, set the scene properly. There were candles lit all over the apartment, there was soft music playing, and she was in a white see through V-necked lace dress with a slit all the way up to her upper thigh, sexy yet still elegant, and easily the most provocative thing she had ever worn. She hoped she approved, because if he didn’t…

Well, if he didn’t, she was going to be rather embarrassed.

She heard the key in the lock and then quickly tried to figure out the best place to go to look her sexiest, and ended up not figuring out any pose by the time the door opened and he stood there, taking in the scene. He looked at her, jaw hanging open just slightly. “You look exquisite,” he said finally, moving closer to her.

She felt herself warm at the cheeks and duck her head slightly. “You think so?” she asked.

He stood in front of her and tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. She saw a heated passion she hadn’t seen in his eyes before, and she felt something settle in her, a warmth in her nether regions as he reached behind her with his other hand to pull her against him. When he pressed his lips against hers it was honestly one of the most passionate kisses they had ever shared, and she could feel just how much he wanted her.

After a moment he lowered one of the straps of the dress and moved his lips, pressing a kiss to her neck, his teeth gently grazing the skin, and she felt a small moan erupt from the back of her throat as he teased the skin there for a moment. Then he moved the bodice of the dress lower as he pressed kisses on the skin that was bared, and when he captured her breast in his mouth she felt she might pass out from pleasure on the spot. “Mycroft,” she breathed softly, gripping his shoulders tightly as she tilted her head back.

Oh, if this was just the start to the evening’s festivities, she couldn’t wait to see what else would happen...

_“It’s usually one small detail that is overlooked that brings about the downfall of any particular criminal. It can be the simplest thing, and it will be right under their nose, and **because** it’s so simple they won’t factor it into their plans and then all their plans will fall apart.”_

She had been dozing, her head resting on his chest and his arms around her. She had thought he was asleep as well but eventually she was pulled out of her slumber by the awareness that he had _not_ joined her in sleep. His being awake was now keeping _her_ awake. “Mycroft?” she mumbled sleepily.

“I did not mean to wake you,” he said, stroking back her hair gently before pressing a kiss to her temple. “I just find I have much on my mind at the moment.”

“Then share it with me,” she said, shifting slightly so she could lift her head up to look at him. “I’ve helped you sort out things before.”

He nodded slightly. “There’s movement against Sherlock,” he said. “He hasn’t managed to take Sebastian Moran out of the equation, and Moran’s making moves against him. I have the opportunity to block something, but I don’t trust anyone to do the mission other than myself.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s a meeting of assassins and brigands in Vancouver,” he said. “I have a way in, but I need a partner.”

“I’ll go,” she said before she really thought about it.

He looked at her. “It’s dangerous,” he said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. 

“I understand,” she said. “But if it’s dangerous for _me_ then it’s dangerous for _you_ and I don’t want you there without me.”

He leaned in and kissed her softly. “How do you propose we get us both to Vancouver?” he asked, staying close to her.

“Well, I can take time away from my post, and Tom and I can go on holiday. You can meet us there covertly while on a business trip with Anthea,” she said. “That way there is someone there as back-up. And then I’m there when you need me, however you need me.” 

“I think that sounds like an acceptable plan,” he said with a nod. “We can work out details later, I suppose, over dinner tomorrow?”

“Won’t it look suspicious if I boot Tom out in favour of you?” she asked with a small smile.

“I should care, but I really don’t,” he said before leaning in and kissing her again. For now they could be a little more selfish with each others time, but eventually they would have to spend less time together, as long as she was pretending to have a relationship with Tom. The more serious her fake relationship became, the less time she would have to spend with Mycroft, and she wasn’t sure she could bear that.

And as the kiss increased in passion, she wasn’t sure he could bear it, either.

_“Confessions always bring about surprising things. Secrets come out, of course, but other things come to light as well. You can guess sometimes what will happen when you get a confession but always leave room for the element of surprise.”_

After the successful trip to Vancouver, Molly helped where she could in the various missions and plans to keep Sherlock safe. She pored over data that only Mycroft and Anthea were otherwise privy to to determine how best to help Sherlock maneuver his way through what was left of Moriarty’s organization from afar. By the time two years had passed she was almost as knowledgeable with it all as Mycroft and Sherlock were, she thought.

It was something that had drawn her and Mycroft closer together, bonded them. A nigh-unshakeable bond, she thought, but one they never voiced. Oh, she felt it, but she didn’t say the words out loud. That didn’t seem to be the way they were. There was so much between them that was said through words and so much that was done through action but sentiment? Words of sentiment were not shared, only moments of action.

But now, as Mycroft was gearing up to go to Serbia to retrieve Sherlock and bring him home, to face a threat that Moran posed to Queen and Country that couldn’t be put off onto anyone else, perhaps it was time to translate actions to words.

She sat on the sofa, her legs slightly jittery as she tried to decide how to go about it. Mycroft was at her stove, cooking. She had found that when he was especially nervous he cooked, and tonight he had insisted on making chicken spinach cauliflower casserole. After a few moments she popped up and made her way over to him, glass of wine in hand. “Mycroft?” she asked.

“Yes?” he answered, not turning away from the spinach and garlic he was cooking in the skillet.

“If I were to tell you something, something I believe is important, do you think you would react favourably?”

He stilled. “You don’t believe you’re pregnant, are you?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she said. “I just...I wanted to say that I love you, that’s all.”

He was quiet for a moment. A rather long moment. Far _too_ long, as far as she was concerned. And when he finally spoke, he nodded slowly and said “I see.”

She felt a small part of her crumple up and die inside. No, to be quite truthful, a small part of her had honesty expected this might happen, that he didn’t feel the same. Or at least, that he wouldn’t say the words. She went to get more wine, topping off her glass. Yes, she really should have expected it. She took a long sip of her wine and tried to stuff down her disappointment. Maybe he would say it later. Maybe he wouldn’t. But it was out there now, no taking it back, and whatever it was that meant for them...well, so be it.

_“After a time, most people find that having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true. That is when you’ll find they start to regret their role in the crime and are ready to confess.”_

She could tell that with Sherlock’s return things were different. Or perhaps it was with her confession of feelings, or the need for her ruse with Tom to have become so much more elaborate. All she knew was things were _different_ between her and Mycroft and she did not like that. She could feel him pulling away and it broke her heart. She didn’t want to lose him.

She couldn’t bear to lose him.

But she came home one day, expecting to find Tom and instead finding Mycroft waiting for her in her sitting room. He looked sad, resigned, and deep inside she knew before he said a word that it was over. She put on a brave face as she set her things down. “Returning your key?”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t think I’ll have need of it,” he said quietly. She could hear an undercurrent of pain in his voice but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. She couldn’t. It would just cause her to beg him to stay, and if he had his reasons for ending things, whatever they were, she didn’t want to hear them right now. 

“No, I suppose not.” She moved to the kitchen, making sure to keep a fair bit of distance between them.

“Molly...” he said.

“Please don’t,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t...I can’t bear to know why. It’s all a mess now, isn’t it? It was fine while he was gone, but now Sherlock is back and it’s all a mess and it can’t be the way it was. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?” She leaned over the sink as she felt a tear slip down her face and she gripped the edge. Oh, she’d been such a fool to think things could stay the same. She’d been a fool to think love could _really_ conquer all.

She’d just been an utter fool all around, more or less.

She could hear him get up from the chair, move nearly soundlessly to the door, and then the door open and close. Then she could freely sob the deep, wracking sobs that threatened to overtake her body. She made her way to the sofa and collapsed, crying her heart out, grieving for what could have been, what she’d desperately wanted.

When it had tapered down she got a text alert on her mobile. She dried her eyes with the back of her hand and saw it was from Tom, telling her he was sorry for her loss and if she needed him, he could be by with takeaway in thirty minutes. She smiled at that. Even though Mycroft wasn’t her lover anymore, at least he still wished to take care of her. That was something.

_“Sometimes you need to take a fresh perspective. Clear you mind and look at things from a new point of view. Get a fresh start. Once you get a new angle on things, everything becomes more focused and the answer just becomes crystal clear.”_

She’d had enough.

After everything, after all of it, she’d had _enough_. 

She’d muddled through with the fake engagement to Tom for the sake of her safety, but after John and Mary’s wedding, she just couldn’t take it anymore. Tom was a dear friend now, but she simply couldn’t put up with the pretense. And he’d understood, he had, bless him for that. They’d parted on good terms and she’d not been surprised to find another person put to her detail, shadowing her as discretely as possible. Even though he hadn’t said a word to her since that day in her flat, Mycroft was still a presence in her life.

And then his brother had gone and done his little stunts, one right after the other, with Janine and Mary and Christmas and Magnusen and she realized she was just...done. She didn’t want to be a part of that anymore. She wanted a less complicated life, a life that wasn’t so fraught with danger. The day after the shooting she put the word out to see about going to another teaching hospital or morgue. She’d just found out that she’d gotten accepted to a post at Causton CID the day the video aired.

The day her whole world flipped upside down.

She’d expected Sherlock to come rushing into her morgue to find her huddled in her office, scalpel centimeters away from her grasp, but no, it was Mycroft, looking haggard and careworn and slightly panicked. “Molly,” he said quietly.

She got out of her chair and rushed over to him, embracing him, and he held her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and _then_ she felt safe, as though they hadn’t been estranged, hadn’t spent months not speaking. “Is he alive?” she asked, her lips muffled against his coat. “Was it all some sort of trick?”

“My brother, while high at the moment, assures me Moriarty is dead,” Mycroft said, stroking her back. “He also says he knows what the next move is.” He pressed another kiss in her hair. “My concern is you, though. I wish to keep you safe. If you will allow me, I wish to take you to my home for the time being.”

She pulled away to look up at him. “ _Your_ home?”

He nodded. “I was foolish to push you away, when I care so greatly for you. I had worried that harm might come to you before I could get to you. I want to make sure no one harms you and that is the safest place.” He caressed her face gently. “Please stay with me?”

She nodded slowly. “All right. For now.”

“Thank you,” he murmured before pulling her close again, which she allowed, thankful for the comfort he gave.

_“Even when there’s a resolution to the case, it’s never over. Life moves on, and it’s always in the back of the mind of everyone involved. Anything can bring it up: a flash of colour, a smell, a name. No one is ever safe from it. Nothing is ever **really** over.”_

She had moved into a guest bedroom for the first week she was there, but by the end of that week they both knew that their feelings towards each other were as strong as they had been, no matter how much they had tried to deny it. A passionate snog in the kitchen while they had been preparing dinner that had nearly led to him taking her on the kitchen counter had been proof enough for that, and she had soon moved into his bedoom.

It had felt different but it felt right, she supposed. She wondered if they ever should have tried to hide their relationship, if they shouldn't have just been open from the start and said damn the consequenses. Perhaps she wouldn’t have had to endure the heartache she’d been through these last few months.

This particular morning she awoke to an empty bed. It was something she was used to; he had never stayed the night in her flat, and even in his home she was used to him rising early for his morning routine, which started at four in the morning. What she was _not_ expecting was the door opening and him coming in with a tray. “Good morning,” he said with a soft smile.

“Morning,” she said, sitting up and bringing the sheet to her chest. He brought the tray over and she saw coffee, a plate with a lovely breakfast and…

...and a velvet ring box.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, and he picked it up, opening it. There was a diamond ring set with small sapphires and emeralds, and he plucked it out of the box. “My grandmother’s ring,” he said. “I had never thought I’d have use for it, that it would be given to my PA upon my passing for her service to me. But I think it would be best upon your finger.” He pulled her hand towards him. “I am not the best at conveying my emotions, but I do love you, Margaret Elizabeth Hooper. I regret pushing you away and letting you go. That was the biggest mistake of my life and I vowed if I could get a second chance I would spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I would honour you and obey you and worship the ground you would walk on if you would make me your husband.”

She felt tears of happiness spill down her face as she nodded. “Yes,” she said softly, and watched as he slipped the ring on her finger before she leaned forward and kissed him. This felt absolutely perfect, she realized, and now they had the rest of their lives to spend together.


End file.
